Page 29

CHAPTER 28

“I 'm ever so sorry, pet,” sighed the dowager duchess as she passed the note that had just arrived to Penelope, “but it appears that something unexpected came up and the seamstress will only be able to do your fitting tomorrow.”

Penelope skimmed through the note as she spoke. “That’s quite all right, Your Grace. At least we no longer have to rush home after doing our shopping today.”

Even though the wedding was still about three weeks away, the dowager duchess had suggested conducting rehearsals of the wedding breakfast—more to the point, she wanted to ensure that all of the dishes were made to perfection and thus arranged for the cook to create practice dishes until she was satisfied.

Penelope had expressed her concerns that the dowager duchess was generously spending far too much on ingredients and materials for the rehearsal dishes, but the older woman was quick to hush her protests.

“It’s no bother at all, my pet,” answered the dowager duchess. “Besides, given Duncan’s aversion to marriage, this may very well be my only chance to properly plan a wedding, so please do not deny an old woman this pleasure.”

Indeed, after everything that Her Grace had done for them, who was Penelope to get in her way? Today, the women found it necessary to get as early of a start as possible because, in addition to stocking up on ingredients, the dowager duchess desired to get in touch with a cheese-making family rumored to be the best in London.

The gentle morning breeze danced between the women's skirts as they left the house. Mr. Rowley helped Her Grace descend the steps while Penelope similarly assisted Mother.

They had been so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t notice a coach pull up to the gates.

“Duncan?” the dowager duchess breathlessly exclaimed.

Penelope’s head snapped to follow her line of sight.

Sure enough, the Duke of Blackmoore was climbing out of his coach, his eyes alert and his smile bright as he gave everyone a cheery wave.

Before she could catch herself, a giant smile spread across Penelope’s face, an instinctive response as her heart shamelessly fluttered upon seeing him.

Something about him had changed, however.

When His Grace jogged towards them with his usual cocky smile, he seemed more at ease, and even more confident than before—a feat that Penelope didn’t even realize was possible.

Pleasantries and greetings were exchanged as His Grace allowed his mother to pull him down for a quick kiss on the cheek while she fussed over him.

“Where on earth did you disappear off to this time?” she lovingly complained as she stroked his cheek. “You had us ever so worried about you.”

“I’m sorry, Mother, but I had very little choice. I shan't bore you with the details,” came the duke’s elusive answer, “but I promise that it’s all taken care of now.”

He was smiling, but not in the way that Penelope had grown accustomed to. His smile didn't reach his eyes, betraying its insincerity.

Even when his eyes met hers for a fleeting moment, there was a difference. The familiar warmth that they usually carried was absent, replaced by a barrier of cordiality that caused Penelope’s knees to slightly buckle underneath her.

Just as her mind scrambled for what to say to him, the duke declared that he didn't want to keep them from getting on with their day and wished them well before hastily entering the house.

Over the last few days, Penelope had slowly grown used to His Grace’s absence—save for the occasional wandering thought or two that she would immediately quell. But his return now opened the floodgates of her mind, distracting and swallowing her whole as she and the other women flitted between various shops and market stalls around town.

Penelope’s agitation only increased on the coach ride home and became absolutely unbearable when she stood on the front door’s threshold, almost shivering at the thought of entering the house knowing that His Grace was now inside.

So, she bowed away from the door, muttering something to Mother about wanting to stretch her legs.

The last thing she heard as she strolled away from the front door was the slight commotion in the entrance hall as the servants collected the wrapped parcels of shopping while the dowager duchess happily announced to the cook that they had successfully managed to procure the cheese they wanted.

Penelope’s heartbeat eventually slowed down enough for her to be able to enjoy the light bird song in the air—how she wished she could exchange places with the carefree sparrows that curiously watched her as they perched on the branches above.

And what a curious sight she must have been to them, walking around and around the winding garden path that encircled the manor, like a haunting sentinel chasing an invisible opponent.

But as she turned the corner this time, she caught sight of another coach arriving, its driver a familiar face. Before she had fully registered who it was, the coach’s door was swinging open to reveal Uncle Winston—his face an angry crimson as he stalked towards her.

Penelope wanted to run but found her feet practically nailed to the ground, feeling too weak as she felt her soul drain away, her knees weak and shaking against each other.

Her worst fear had come true.

“You!” he hissed, thundering towards her, already raising his cane high.

Knowing what was coming, but still unable to run, all Penelope could do was brace herself—sucking in a deep breath as she squeezed her eyes shut.

But the blow never came—but strangely enough, the sound of a blow still rang in her ears. When she finally opened her eyes, she found out how it had been possible.

The Duke of Blackmoore’s large frame stood between her and her wretched uncle, who now lay on the ground, blood visibly leaking from his nose.

“Get up,” snarled the duke, his voice low and guttural, different from anything Penelope had ever heard from him before. “Common courtesy prevents me from hitting an adversary when he is down—even if he is nothing but vile scum.”

The older man looked up at His Grace with shock, but when his eyes landed on Penelope once more, his features contorted as the flames of his rage stoked higher.

“Stay out of our family’s affairs, Blackmoore,” hissed the older man propping himself up on his elbows.

“Stay out of my garden, then,” the duke retorted, “or would you prefer that I drag you out with my bare hands?”

“A pathetic wench like her isn’t worth your-”

The earl’s remark halted abruptly when the duke placed a heavy boot against his chest—not pressing down into the other man’s frame yet, but the threatening implication was enough to jolt Penelope out of the statue-like state she had found herself in.

“Your Grace, please!” she barely managed to yelp.

But the duke remained unyielding, lowering his foot just enough to leave a print on his opponent’s chest as he growled, “Close your eyes, rat. You aren’t fit to even look at her!”

“Your Grace...” Penelope pleaded again, weakly tugging at his arm.

The contact managed to momentarily snap his attention to her where, once again, she saw his eyes different from anything she had ever seen from him before. But this time, the barrier of cold cordiality had not dissipated, replaced by scorching rage that threatened to consume anything in its path.

“Your Grace...” Penelope swallowed, beginning anew in the hopes of getting through to him, “it’s only because he had intended to marry me himsel-”

“Who- Wha- Do you mean this worm?” the duke let out with a scoff. “Well, raising his cane against you is certainly an interesting way to show it.”

The duke’s foot must have increased its pressure once more because the other man squirmed and grasped at the heavy weight that bore down on him. When this proved unsuccessful, he instead began to claw for his cane.

“Is that how you would have treated her once she became yours?” the duke roared, using his other foot to hook the cane and kick it further away. “And given the ease with which you were about to commit such an unspeakable act, I’m certain this isn’t the first time you’ve hit a woman, is it? Is it? ”

The earl’s face looked up in fear, his silence betraying that the duke’s assumption had been correct.

“I thought so, you bastard...” snarled His Grace, his fists clenching at his sides.

Unsure of what else to do, Penelope wrapped her arms around the duke, holding him tight as she begged for him to calm down. Her shaking frame against his, the only word she could muster through her sobs was: “Please...”—a prayer she helplessly repeated as she pressed her tear-stained cheek flush against his sturdy back.

An eternity seemed to pass between one heartbeat and the next. But when it had finally lapsed, she could feel the duke gradually slacken in her grip, giving her the courage to open her eyes once again.

The next thing she knew, the duke was wrapping strong arms around her, steadying her because she was still clinging to him as he took a step backward, finally releasing the man he had pinned below.

“Get out,” His Grace coldly commanded. “This is the last time you have the privilege of being in Lady Penelope’s presence. If you dare approach her or her mother again...” his eyes momentarily drifted to Penelope before resuming, “...well, I pray you never have to find out.”

The older man said nothing in response, focusing his efforts instead on scrambling to his feet as best as he could, grabbing his cane, and then hobbling towards the coach.

Without meaning to, Penelope held her breath until the coach turned the corner and was finally out of sight. When she finally exhaled, both her breath and whatever strength she had left seemed to forsake her as she fell to her knees, a hand clutching her chest to still her throbbing heart.

“Are you all right?” the duke gasped, sinking to the ground with her as frantic questions poured out of him. “Was I too late? Did he hit yo-”

“N-No, Your Grace,” she replied, her breath hitching in her throat at the sensation of his hand gently cradling her face, a stark contrast to the ruthless fury he had displayed earlier.

“Thank Providence,” he exhaled, his head falling backward in relief.

Penelope missed the warmth of his hand the moment it fell away from her face. But the warmth soon reappeared, this time when his hand squeezed hers.

She eyed their interlocked fingers in curiosity before raising her eyes to meet his once more. His blue eyes screamed at her, but seemingly in a language that she was unfamiliar with.

“You can't keep doing this to me...” he choked out, his voice painfully hoarse.

Penelope opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but the question lodged in her throat as her world suddenly went black.